Shatter Softly, Leave Quietly
by ilovemoony73
Summary: She's not just a know-it-all, she's a human being.


Blaise hadn't been showing up, Hermione noticed.

She spent three or four nights each week waiting for him, knowing sometimes that it wasn't worth getting her hopes up; if he came, he came. But if he did not, he did not. And she could do nothing about it.

She hadn't gone to the Room of Requirement herself one November night, to see if he would even notice. When he had been frowning the next morning at breakfast she thought that he may have really chosen that night to grace Hermione with his now-seldom appearance. Her optimism fell flat when he put his head in his hands, a near-mirror image of Malfoy to his left. He hadn't made an effort to see her last night. He had been drinking.

The thought made her blood boil.

If Hermione were able to speak her mind without fear she'd be considered naïve, she would say without hesitation that she loved Blaise. She had been dating him in secret for over a year, and although there had been rough patches here and there, everything had seemed better than ever before the school year started. He still treated her like a princess when they were together. Their time together was just . . . sparse.

She always forgot all of the things that annoyed her when they met at night. And after a while she didn't mind the nights that he didn't show; she had no problem relaxing in solitude for a few hours with nothing but a book and a big cozy bed.

But when she saw him in the Great Hall with red eyes and mussed hair, she became almost unreasonably angry. Instead of being with his girlfriend he was partying with his friend and doing god-knew-what with the Slytherin sluts who always ogled at him? It set her seething. It wasn't like he wouldn't get any action if he did by chance choose her.

In October, soon after Hermione's birthday, they were meeting every night possible. She often found herself thinking back to one night in early fall, lying with her head on his chest after a round of remarkably passionate love-making. When she was lonely without him, she would draw the picture to her mind and tell herself that he'd come again soon enough. Just like her period.

December brought no good news for Hermione. Before the holidays she had gone to the hospital wing and after performing tests Madam Pomfrey had asked Hermione to join her in her office for a moment.

"Hermione, dear," Madam Pomfrey said tentatively as she crossed from the door to lean against the front of her desk. "Did you think there was a chance you could be pregnant?"

Hermione began to sob, placing her head in her hands and nodding. Madam Pomfrey knelt and rubbed circles over her back.

"I'm not in any position to inform your parents or anyone else if you're concerned, my dear. But I must tell you that you _should_ talk to your parents. You're going home for the holidays, yes? No matter what you decide, you need the support. And you should tell the father, if he's still part of your life."

While the woman spoke Hermione composed herself. She was not going home for the holidays, she was going to Grimmauld Place, but there was no reason to bring that to anyone's attention. Hermione had known what she was going to do before she knew for fact that she was pregnant. She and Blaise had discussed before that termination was their best option.

Molly didn't like to see Hermione so gloomy. And she knew Hermione would never admit that something was wrong, at least not in front of her friends. Molly understood that Hermione felt like she should always have everything together.

Towards the end of break Molly managed to catch Hermione reading in her and Ginny's room alone. The boys, Ginny and Harry had gone outside to play a mock game of Quidditch.

The cloudy look in Hermione's eyes from over the top of her book made Molly's heart wretch. She did what any mother would: she intruded on the private life of a child she considered a daughter.

"Hermione," she put her book down, "Would you like to talk about something?" The cloudiness in her eyes broke as they filled with tears. "Come on, dear, we'll go down to the kitchen and have tea. No one will be down there."

Hermione followed Molly without hesitation. She and Blaise hadn't planned to tell anyone; she had meant to take care of the problem herself. But she hadn't even heard from Blaise in two weeks. He didn't understand that this wasn't something she could do by herself. What did he expect her to do?

Once settled in the kitchen Hermione didn't wait for invitation to start talking.

"Mrs. Weasley, I'm pregnant," she said, and sat with her back straight, holding Molly's eyes and apparently not noticing the tears that were flooding down her cheeks.

"Oh dear, poor, poor dear," Molly said after a moment of stunned silence. She moved to hug the girl that was hardly more than a child and her gesture was eagerly accepted. Hermione crumpled.

Of all the expectations she had easily surpassed, it was ridiculous that this would be her downfall.

Hermione talked to Molly about what the options were; Molly agreed that a termination may indeed be one of the best options. No one was financially able to raise a baby, Hermione figured, and Molly deemed it completely unfair for a girl of barely 16 to carry a baby to full term, give birth, and never see her baby again. Molly settled arrangements for Hermione. By the time Hermione returned to Hogwarts, all of the pregnancy business was done with, and she felt closer to Molly than ever and eternally grateful as well.

"Eight weeks and four days," Hermione said after she had been back for a week. It was the first time she saw Blaise. "His head was the size of your eyeball." She sounded clearly distraught, but Blaise did not seem to catch it.

"Baby killer," he mumbled from the edge of a far chair.

Not another week passed before Hermione realized that it had not been Blaise's baby. It had been _her _baby; he did not deserve the privilege to call her baby his even if he wanted to. He did not love it. He did not love her. And after some thought she noticed she did not love him, either. But she loved her baby.

She would have done anything to get the tiny thing back.

**Well, that was depressing, and probably not very good. It was **_**really**_** incredibly hard to write though. Some things are just too touchy to tell well. But this is actually just over 1,000 words so it's pretty long compared to my other stuff.**

**Anyway, in the words of Mr. King, **_**now my story is told**_**. The end.**


End file.
